


What Is This Feeling?

by CautionaryTales



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Enjolras is a dick but nobody is really surprised because it's nothing new, Fluff and Angst, Grantaire just has awful coping mechanisms really, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-15
Updated: 2014-03-15
Packaged: 2018-01-15 18:49:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1315471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CautionaryTales/pseuds/CautionaryTales
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras has a horrible day and the last thing he needs to deal with is being locked out of his house.  Frustration causes him to be more irritable than usual and he takes it out on an unsuspecting Grantaire.  Unfortunately the other man isn't too happy with current events in his own life and it just goes downhill from there.  Angst leads to fluff and Enjolras has an interesting revelation about his feelings for Grantaire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Is This Feeling?

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to granclaire for the original prompt:
> 
> "If you're still accepting prompts I have an idea but it's kinda lame feel free to ignore it. E/R, Enjolras comes home from class and Grantaire is throwing up and E has had a bad day so he snaps "you're already drunk, it's 4 pm omfg" or something and Grantaire is actually suffering from a bad migraine cue angst but E ending up feeling really bad and taking care of R very sweetly; holding him and gently rubbing his head and stuff :3"
> 
> Another giant thank you goes to valyrianking for being an awesome beta and helping me iron out all of the issues within the fic.

Enjolras growled, jabbing his key into the lock, mumbling, “Come on… get in there… stupid fucking cold.”

The freezing temperatures had shrunk the metal lock attached to his house’s door again and Enjolras really wasn’t in the mood for being stuck outside.  After a few minutes of trying to jiggle his key into the small space, to no avail, he banged his fist against the door.

“Grantaire, you home?” he called.  “Come on, R, open up.”

Enjolras listen to the silence that emanated from the apartment in response before sighing and trying to open the door again.  Grantaire must not be home yet, maybe he decided to go to the art building and work on his latest project.  It took a bit of fiddling, but the key slipped into place and the door swung open. 

“Fucking finally,” Enjolras muttered as he dumped his bag on the ground and slammed the door behind him.  Stepping forward, he all but collapsed onto the couch groaning into one of the cushions. 

It had been a long day:  he sat through two three hour lectures before his poly sci class, which ended with the professor kicking him out.  It wasn’t his fault that the man had no idea how important change is within government.  Although arguing with a staunchly conservative professor probably wasn’t his most brilliant idea, he never thought that he would be humiliated by being thrown out of the classroom. 

This meant that Enjolras had two choices: he could either wait for an hour in the biting cold until the next bus came, or he could brave the frigid walk home, which would only take him thirty minutes.  He chose the latter option and even though it did allow him to arrive at his townhouse faster, it hadn’t done anything that improved his sour mood.

Rolling over on the couch, he absentmindedly thought that he should probably lock the door again.  The student neighbourhoods around the university didn’t really have the greatest reputation as far as break-ins went.  Enjolras made a move to sit up when he heard a crash come from the hallway; it sounded like someone was in the bathroom.

He quietly got to his feet and began down the hall, heading toward the bathroom where the door was ajar.  Slowly pushing it open, Enjolras peered around the corner and immediately wrinkled his nose at the retching sounds that emanated from the large porcelain bowl next to the sink.

“Seriously?” Enjolras snapped, reaching his limit for the day.  “It’s four in the afternoon and you’re already drunk?”

A pained groan tumbled from Grantaire and he turned his head to respond.  As soon as he opened his mouth, all colour drained from his face and he leaned back to vomit again.

“This is absolutely pathetic, you’re drunk enough to vomit and it’s not even dark,” Enjolras snarled.  “I was waiting outside in the cold, calling for you to open the door, and you’re in here getting hammered, this is just great.  You’re a great boyfriend; you know that R?”

He waited for Grantaire to finish throwing up, tapping his foot impatiently against the hard tile, soft thumps echoing in the small space.  When the man finally turned around to Enjolras, he sank to the floor and closed his eyes.  Tear tracks were dried on his face and Enjolras tried desperately to ignore the guilty feelings that bubble up to constrict his throat.   _Were those there before?_

Grantaire slowly rubbed his temples and opened his eyes, mouth turning downward slightly at the corners when he caught sight of his boyfriend lingering by the door. 

“What’re you still doing here?”

“Wondering what you’re doing on the bathroom floor at this hour.”

“Jesus, Enj,” Grantaire scrubbed a hand over his face, making scratching noises against his stubble that were uncomfortably loud in the following silence.  Finally, he said, “Be honest, do you even give a shit anymore, or are you just having fun watching me fuck up my life even more?  Not all of us can be perfect; sorry to disappoint.”

“You never answered my question.”

“I’m sitting here because it’s fucking comfortable, you should try it.  I’m not sure why we even need a couch anymore,” Grantaire deadpanned, a slight curl to his lip as he said the words.

Enjolras stepped back, lines forming between his eyebrows, “Don’t start getting passive-aggressive about this.  You have a serious problem and it’s becoming an issue for me too.  You’re not the easiest roommate to live with, you know.  And on top of this,” he gestured to Grantaire, now slumped on the floor, hair hiding his face, “I have to deal with your filth when I come home from a long day.  It’s ridiculous.”

Grantaire sighed, shaking his head as he stood up.  He lurched forward unsteadily, but wrenched his arm out of Enjolras’ grasp when the man tried to help get his balance. 

“Fuck off,” he spat venomously, stumbling forward only a few steps before he had to lean over the sink, dry heaving. 

Shock jolted through Enjolras at the words, he was being unreasonable, he knew it, but he was just so unbearably frustrated.  Whenever he got like this, he found it so difficult to stop himself from saying things he knew that he would regret.  With these thoughts coursing through his mind, he let out an ugly laugh anyway.  It was harsh and short, and he wished he could take it back as soon as it left his mouth, but he was still too feeling petty and irritated to try.

Crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall opposite Grantaire, Enjolras said, “So now you’re going to be like that, are you?”

“Yes, I am.” Grantaire’s head slipped down onto his hands, leaning forward on his hands and rucking up his t-shirt to show a sliver of skin before his green boxers cut off the view.  Enjolras blinked a few times, refocusing his eyes on the back of the man’s head: a mass of wild curls matted on one side from sleep.  “You come home, find me fucking vomiting, and think that the appropriate response is to yell at me.  I have every right to tell you to fuck off if I please.”

Enjolras suddenly realized why these words had shocked him earlier: in all the time they’d known each other, Grantaire had never said anything mean or spiteful to Enjolras unless as a part of some sarcastic jest.  This was the first time he’d been sworn at, and known that the words meant something real.

 _Shit,_ he thought.  “Oh,” he said.  “Okay, I’ll just… um… let you to it then…” Enjolras trailed off lamely, sliding his foot back and forth on the floor. 

Grantaire spun to face him at that, eyes watering and mouth set in a painfully stiff line as though to fight the way his chin was wobbling.  “And Enjolras?”

“Yeah?” his voice sounded as small and wavering as Grantaire looked right now.

“I may be your pathetic, fuck-up roommate, and I don’t give a shit if you want to move out at this point, I really don’t, be my guest, Apollo,” he spit the hated nickname at Enjolras’ feet, “But my art is not  _filth_ , I might be worthless, but that is one thing that I create that is not.  I don’t want to hear those words coming out of your mouth, never yours.  Please.” Grantaire paused and his face softened minutely, all of the fight seeping out of him within the span of a few seconds.  He dragged one shaking hand through his hair, a nervous habit that he had.  Enjolras wasn’t sure what to say, what to do; all of the electricity in the atmosphere had dissipated when Grantaire’s posture had loosened slightly, a gesture of defeat. 

The other man took a deep breath, “I know you’re mad, and I fucked up again- possibly for the last time, but don’t- you know what?  No, I don’t care actually, do what you want.  I’ve never stopped you before, why start now?  I’m just… oh god, this is pathetic,” he runs the back of his hand across his eyes, trying to steel himself.  “Please don’t leave, Enjolras…”

The last word was barely a whisper as Grantaire’s face crumpled and he tried in vain to regain his composure. 

“Grantaire,” Enjolras put a tentative hand on his friend’s shoulder, relieved when the man didn’t flinch away.  Pulling him into a tight hug, and trying to ignore the smell of drying vomit, he said, “I didn’t mean- I never… I’m sorry.”

“’s okay,” came a mumble from the general direction of his shoulder.

“No, it’s not; I was frustrated and took it out on you.  I should not have done that and I really am sorry,” Enjolras shook his head.  “And I should never have attacked your art, that was incredibly inappropriate.”

“Not everyone seems to agree today,” Grantaire whispered.

Enjolras softly pulled the other man away from his embrace and held his face between gentle hands, “What do you mean?”

“The gallery, they called today.”

“And?”

“And they said I wasn’t what they were looking for,” Grantaire pulled his head away and ducked back to the sink, bracing himself with is palms.  “Apparently they’re looking for a more ‘refined style’ and my artwork is too ‘childish’ and ‘simplistic’ for their complex tastes.”

The bitterness in his voice felt like a slap to Enjolras, “That’s why you were drunk?”

“I didn’t know how else to deal with it,” Grantaire bit back a sob.  “You weren’t home and ‘Ponine wasn’t answering her phone.  I couldn’t just sit there alone with my thoughts, it was too much- I didn’t know-”

“Shhh,” Enjolras held out his arms and bit his lips as his roommate sank into them again.  “Oh god, I know how much that meant to you, ‘Taire.  It’s okay, you know how those pretentious art freaks are, they’re too busy flaunting their own success to recognize amazing art if it set fire to their precious gallery.”

Grantaire sniffled out a weak giggle and suddenly slid down to the floor, at Enjolras’ feet.  The man joined him, mirroring his cross-legged position on the cold tile.

“Of course your solution would be to set them on fire.”

“It’s a logical progression of thought,” Enjolras’ smile grew larger along with Grantaire’s and he poked his friend’s shoulder.

“Sure it is,” Grantaire looked up, his bright smile and red, blotchy face creating a strange juxtaposition.  “For you and your merry band of anarchists, anyway.”

Enjolras honest-to-god giggled at this, despite trying to look horribly offended.  Suddenly, his expression because extremely serious, hand reaching out to tip Grantiare’s chin up to face him.  

“Are you okay, though?  Now, I mean.  Obviously you weren’t before, and me being a dick probably didn’t help.  Of course it never does, it wouldn’t make sense if it did.  I don’t want to move out either, I don’t know what made you think that, I really do love living with you.  You’re kind and funny and yeah, we argue a lot, but it’s entertaining and you can hold up your end of a debate so it never really is onesided-”

“Enjolras, you’re rambling.”

“Oh, right, sorry,” he doesn’t quite know where to look and settles on a slightly uneven patch of Grantaire’s stubble, just near his left ear.

“It’s okay.  Well, not really, you were being fucking awful; but I forgive you.” Grantaire’s face melted into a gentle grin, eyes crinkling at the corners, and he pushed himself off the ground with a grunt, looking remarkably steadier than he had a few moments before.  “I still feel like shit, and sitting on the floor of our bathroom really isn’t helping.  Do you fancy a movie?”

Enjolras shook his head and glanced up to where the other man was standing above him now, holding a hand out.  Taking the offer to help him up, he told himself that the shiver when their fingers touched was because he was still cold.  “Sure, how do you feel about The King’s Speech?”

“You hate that movie.”

“I don’t  _hate_ it, besides, it’s one of your favourites.”

“You sure know how to make peace, Apollo.”

Enjolras growled, “Don’t call me that,” and it took Grantaire all of three seconds to burst into laughter, quickly stopping to catch his breath as he felt bile rise in his throat again.

“Whatever you say, as long as I get the couch,” and with that he stepped out of the doorway and headed down the hall, presumably to retrieve his laptop.

Enjolras watched him fondly for a few seconds before whipping out his phone and sending a quick text to Combeferre.

After Grantaire returned and began playing the movie, he leaned back on the couch, a safe distance away from Enjolras.  The other man snorted in response, pushing blonde hair away from his eyes and sliding closer to his roommate.

“What?  I’m cold,” Enjolras said in response to Grantaire’s questioning glance.  

A raised eyebrow was the only reply he was graced with before the movie started and Grantaire shrugged, nestling his head under Enjolras’ chin.  

Two hours later, when the movie had finally finished, Enjolras jumped in surprise when the screen suddenly went dark.  He had stopped paying attention long ago, finding the way Grantaire’s hair curled around his fingers as he played with it much more interesting.  The artist had fallen asleep about an hour ago, making pleased noises as Enjolras’ carded a hand through his hair, and all but laying on top of the taller man at that point.

Enjolras yawned and let his tired eyelids drag themselves closed, intent on joining Grantaire in sleep.  It had been a long day and he was too tired to move back to his own bed.  At least, that’s what he told himself as he snuggled into his boyfriend, finding a more comfortable position to fall asleep in.

Unfortunately, this meant that he missed the text that lit up his screen just minutes later.

  
_Combeferre:  leave it to u to figure out ur in love while he’s vomiting into a toilet.  romantic._

**Author's Note:**

> This fic proved to be really difficult to title and thanks to a frustrating conversation with enjolgay, I did end up arriving at a winner. However, I felt inclined to add the runner-ups in the notes:  
> Love is A Bathroom Floor  
> We Found Love on a Bathroom Floor  
> Enjolras Has Issues and Gushes To Combeferre Instead Of Actually Communicating With His Boyfriend Like A Normal Human Being  
> Enjolras Is Incapable of Actually Telling His Boyfriend That He May Be In Love With Him Because He Needs Emotional Laxatives


End file.
